


cranberry

by Waywarder



Series: Simply Having an Ineffable Christmastime [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables, Christmas Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21620023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waywarder/pseuds/Waywarder
Summary: In which Crowley tries to make something for Aziraphale.Part of Drawlight's 31 Days of Ineffables Holiday Challenge!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Simply Having an Ineffable Christmastime [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558789
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	cranberry

_Baking a cake. How hard could it be?_

Crowley cursed under his breath as he surveyed the damage in front of him. The monstrosity before him only barely resembled the beautiful cake pictured on his phone. It had all seemed so simple that morning. Aziraphale liked cake, Aziraphale was coming over tonight, Crowley would bake a cake. So, he’d looked up Christmas-y desserts on the Internet, and picked one that he thought was pretty: a cranberry vanilla bean cake. 

He liked the white and the red together, after all.

But what he had created… what should have been elegant red swirls through the delicate white cake looked like horrifying blood streaks across a vanilla battlefield. And, true, maybe he’d been impatient and not let the frosting set for as long as he was supposed to, so, what were supposed to be crisp, beautiful peaks of buttercream were more like sugary blobs. 

“You’re a stupid berry, you know that?” Crowley snarled at the miserable cake. To be fair, it was Crowley himself who had inserted the cranberry into all the other juices back in the early 00’s. 

There was a knock at the door, and Crowley cursed out loud. Aziraphale was here, and there was no salvaging the cake. And, yeah, Crowley knew that Aziraphale would be completely delightful about the stupid cake despite its hideous nature, and that was somehow the worst part. If Crowley was going to be going around and giving Aziraphale things, they ought to be excellent things. Perfect things, even. 

A second knock at the door. Crowley cast a final look of hatred at the cake as though it had betrayed him personally, and went to answer the door. As usual, his fury withered at the sight of Aziraphale standing in his doorway, smiling and straightening his ridiculous bow tie.

“Hello, my--” Aziraphale brought a hand to his mouth, blue eyes wide with surprise and curiousity.

“What? What is it, angel?”

Aziraphale removed his hand to reveal a heart wrenchingly charmed smile. “Oh, my dear. What… what have you been up to today?”

And then Crowley realized. In his haste to a) answer the door and b) break the cake’s spirit with his mind, he’d completely forgotten to miracle himself tidy again. His customary black ensemble was dusted in flour and sugar. His hands were a buttery catastrophe. He was fairly certain that, somehow, lemon zest had ended up in his hair.

“It…” Crowley fumbled for something clever to say, but realized there was no point. He’d been found out. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s smile was maddening. Crowley had half a mind to kiss it right off him. “Have you been _baking?_ ”

“Plenty of hobbies I’ve picked up over the years, angel. You don’t know everything I’ve got up my sleeve.”

“Oh, of course. Might I come in?”

Crowley sighed, defeated. He stepped out of the way to allow Aziraphale entrance to the flat.

“Whatever mysteries you’ve been up to, they smell simply enchanting,” Aziraphale removed his coat. And, for a moment, Crowley forgot to hate that blasted cake. Seeing Aziraphale remove his coat… being at home in his space… Crowley wasn’t sure if it would ever be old to him. 

“Well,” Aziraphale turned to Crowley, expectantly.

“Well?”

“Darling, you’re not going to _keep a cake from me._ ”

Crowley shoved his batter-ruined hands into his pockets. “Didn’t turn out right.”

“Of the two of us, I think I’m much more equipped to correctly judge a baked good, don’t you?”

Why hadn’t he thrown the stupid cake out of the window when he’d heard the knock on the door? 

_Aziraphale doesn’t care about the cake._ A kind, oft-ignored little voice made its presence known in Crowley’s head. _He loves you._

Crowley retreated solemnly to the kitchen, and returned with a slice of the misshapen cake. Sheepishly, he held the plate out towards Aziraphale. A glint of mischief suddenly alighted in the angel’s eyes. 

“No fork?”

 _Because I’m going to stab myself with it,_ Crowley thought, furious with himself.

“Just a second--”

Aziraphale’s hand reached out and held one of his against the plate. With his other hand, the angel nipped a bit of the wretched cranberry cake. 

Now, Crowley had watched Aziraphale eat a decent amount of cake over the centuries. And he’d always attempted to bat down the… well, arousal that watching Aziraphale in the act of being particularly pleased by a confection inspired in him. And, now, in his own flat, with Aziraphale standing so close… And with no silverware? It was all rather salacious. 

This hadn’t necessarily been the plan when the cake idea had sprung to mind, but Crowley wasn’t going to complain about it.

“You really mustn’t be so hard on yourself, darling,” Aziraphale was murmuring. He dragged his thumb through a runny bit of the cake’s cranberry filling. “It’s quite delicious.”

And Aziraphale held his thumb up to Crowley’s mouth, and Crowley felt quite certain that he was going to discorporate on the spot. When he didn’t, though, he took Aziraphale’s thumb into his mouth, and ran his tongue all over the skin and cranberry that he found there. Aziraphale withdrew his thumb, and took the plate from Crowley’s hands. He set it down, lovingly, on Crowley’s desk, and then brought both of his hands to Crowley’s face, pulling the demon in for a kiss.

Aziraphale tasted like cranberry and vanilla and cinnamon, and, as he fairly dragged Crowley in the direction of his bedroom, Crowley made a mental note:

_This baking stuff’s not all bad._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
